


Why We Fight

by Fernstrike



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Backstory, Covert Operation, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Moral Ambiguity, Revenge, Young Runaan (The Dragon Prince), not necessarily s2/s3 compliant, previously published elsewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22557394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernstrike/pseuds/Fernstrike
Summary: Xadia and the human kingdoms are locked in a cold war, but that doesn't mean they never clash outright. A young Runaan is brought on his first mission - an assassination just across the border in Katolis - and learns what turns a duty into a calling.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Why We Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the charity zine [Aspiro](https://dragonprincezine.com/), published in 2019.

The full moon glowed beyond its edges, shimmering across the clustering clouds. The Xadian forest was cool, dark, and quiet, save for the telltale noises that would make clear to anyone listening in—tree, dormouse, owl, even the stars themselves—what was about to take place. Leather was being tightened around boots and across holsters; fletching on arrows was being gently tweaked; Runaan’s blade was singing softly under his whetstone; and the occasional breath of a voice was triple checking who would enter where and what they’d do if something went wrong.

 _Do not linger over the fallen,_ Runaan thought, the words coming in the exact voice of his old tactics instructor. _Their battle is won._

A fortnight ago, he’d finally taken his oath and joined the ranks of the assassins. No sooner was it done than he’d been assigned to this mission. He had trained with one other person on this team— Erya, best at twin knife combat for two years straight—but everyone else was older, fiercer, sterner. Their minds were the mission itself:

_Enter one of the Standing Battalion’s garrisons south of the Breach. Eliminate the colonel stationed there and steal the plans for a suspected incursion into Xadia. In doing so, smash their operational capacity and at least delay the impending raid._

Such barracks were less well guarded than regular border outposts, comprised of rookie troops who were depending on the walls and their ballistas to tackle any threat. It would be a standard task—get in and get out. Thousands didn’t have to die if only one needed to.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

“You’re quiet.”

Runaan glanced up. Siselle was standing tall above him, almost transparent in the moonlight. She looked every bit the commander of the mission that she was, down to the tail of the blood ribbon sticking out of her pocket.

“I’m focusing,” Runaan replied matter-of-factly, sheathing his sword and switching out his whetstone for a vial. He unstoppered it and began dipping his arrowheads. _Employ every failsafe._ Too much was at stake—it always was for a Moonshadow assassin. He knew it, he’d been taught it, he’d trained for it. The mission above all. Xadia above everything. A little poison would go a long way if he was foolish enough to let anything distract his aim. _Even himself._

“Don’t touch your face after that,” Siselle said lightly. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat. “You know, I’ve seen you focused. I won’t forget the day you completed your trials—arrows through the centre of both airborne targets while flipping between trees.” Runaan couldn’t suppress a flare of pride at the memory. As if sensing his thoughts, she smiled and pointed a finger at him, saying, “That was focus. Not this.”

He hesitated answering the question in her open expression. Siselle had been around since Runaan, Erya, and their whole group had begun training. She wasn’t an instructor, but she was always ready to spar, join them at meals, or happily sit up by the evening fire to answer their questions and tell them stories. Runaan probably trusted her more than anyone.

“I know I should be better than this,” he admitted, “but I don’t know if I can do it.”

Her eyes softened. “It’s always daunting the first time. You need to turn your fear into clarity,” she advised. “Don’t lose yourself in the stakes. Focus on hitting your mark and the rest will follow.”

“But I’m not afraid,” he frowned. “Siselle, we’re breaking into a man’s residence to kill him when he hasn’t done anything.”  
“He will. Katolis needs to know that we won’t take any escalation of violence lying down. When you see a punch or a kick coming, do you stand there and take it, or do you dodge and retaliate?”

“But we’re _not_ retaliating. We’re striking preemptively. They’ll call us monsters. They’ll want justice.”

“Justice? Runaan, think.” Her gaze became so stern and compelling that he was forced to hold it. “You know what the humans have done to Xadians, why they live on the other side of that scar in the land we call a border. We’re serving justice for all the creatures whose sacred lives _they_ cut short. And for what? Cruel and corrupting dark magic.” She put a hand on Runaan’s shoulder. “We do not take life lightly, remember? Everything is done for a reason.”

“This colonel didn’t kill them.”

“No. But he fights in the name of the people who did. Defending what they’ve done is his duty and his honour. What do _you_ fight for?”  
  
Runaan clenched his teeth, feeling foolish for dithering. What was making him hesitate? Some false belief that he’d be untrue to himself? But how could he renege against something he wasn’t even sure of? He didn’t know what he really believed, only what he’d been told, the ideals he was meant to build his convictions around. Defending Xadia wasn’t just a martial duty, but a moral one. Life was precious; Xadia, the heart of Primal power, was even more so. Sacrifices made in respect of that couldn’t bad, and all the Moonshadow Elves couldn’t be wrong.  
  
“Xadia,” he said at last, as much for his sake as his commander’s. “And everyone we lost.”  
  
“Good. You’ll find a compass in your heart to guide you one day. For now, ours will not lead you astray.” She stood, relief giving way to subtle mirth in her eyes. “Did you speak to your friend before you left?”  
  
Runaan was suddenly glad of the moonlight turning him nearly transparent, or the slight flush in his cheeks would be hard to miss. “I said I’d be away on a mission. He wished me luck.”  
  
“Good. You’ve got nerve, skills, and wits, believe it or not, but I can’t fault any of us needing a little luck.”  
  
She reached into a belt pouch, withdrawing a shining black hagstone. It reminded Runaan of the sort that he used to collect as a child along riverbeds to look through the hole in the centre, as if these naturally formed marvels would reveal some secret hidden in the rushes or something disguised in the canopy.  
  
“I’m sure you won’t be caught by surprise,” Siselle said, “but if you are, this will buy you some time.”  
  
“Camouflage?”  
  
“Not quite. Something a little more...disorienting. When you’re ready, throw it in the midst of the enemy and seize the chance to get clear.”

He set his jaw. “I won’t let you down.” _I can’t._  
  
She nodded and went to gather the others.  
  
Runaan left everything he wouldn’t need in a small tent, repeating a training mantra in his head— _we fight for our future, for those who cannot fight_ —but it couldn’t convince him. Not completely. Not yet.  
  
There was no point pretending he’d be able to avoid all the sentries _and_ do his job, and so there was no point hiding the truth of the act behind proverbs and pledges. He’d have blood on his hands by the end of the night. His first blood.  
  
He suppressed a shiver, ducking out to see the other four assassins gathered in a circle, standing strong and still as trees. Erya sent him an imploring look that clearly meant for him to stop dallying and get over there. Ultimately, all his training came down to tonight. This was how the life of a Moonshadow Elf assassin manifested. So did he believe what they were fighting for, in his heart of hearts? As he went to stand beside his old classmate, he was ever more convinced he wouldn’t know with certainty until the moment his arrow was nocked.  
  
They repeated the vows drilled into them from day one as Siselle bound them each with the blood ribbon, the bindings sealed themselves with a soft glow.

* * *

“Rear group, with me,” whispered Siselle. Runaan and Erya followed, their blood still hot from the dangerous border crossing and the swift-footed journey to the garrison. The uneven towers of Katolis on the rampart banners flickered in the swift night winds that smelled of an impending storm. Runaan frowned up through the branches of the surrounding forest. The clouds were beginning to strangle the favourable moon.  
  
“Watch your aim,” Erya whispered.  
  
“Don’t lose a finger,” he retorted.  
  
“Hey,” Siselle snapped. “The mission?”  
  
Runaan crossed his arms. “Scale the west sentry tower. Cover the route to and from the keep.”  
  
“Cut down anyone in our path,” Erya added, a little too earnestly.  
  
“Good,” Siselle said, her brow relaxing. “You’ll end up near two ballistas. I want you to disable them. Never pass up a chance to weaken your enemy— _if_ doing so doesn’t jeopardise the plan.” She put a special emphasis on the last words, and Runaan’s fingers curled themselves into fists. As if he’d make a point of doing anything that would doom them.  
  
Siselle went over to the others, looking back with a subtle challenge in her eyes. “Good luck.”  
  
Runaan inclined his head and followed Erya through the gloaming.

* * *

An arrow whistled towards Runaan. He caught it and immediately fired it back through the driving rain, hitting the soldier in his elbow—just as he’d done to the one that had found him and Erya when they’d attempted to quietly shatter the ballista mechanism. He’d screamed until Erya’s swords did their work, but it was too late. Now soldiers were streaming along the parapets and closing off the route to the keep.

All because Runaan had hesitated to make his arrow pierce the soldier’s throat instead.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ he cursed internally, firing in rapid succession, hitting limbs and joints, piercing sword hands so they couldn’t pick up dropped weapons, praying the poison would act fast and paralyse them as it was meant to. 

There was a shout from up ahead. Siselle was lurching towards them from the leftmost parapet, an arrow in her back. She must have fought her way through from the keep.

“It’s over!” she cried, kicking a would-be attacker through an embrasure. She was alone, and the sight chilled Runaan’s blood. _Their battle is won._

“I can fix this!” he yelled back, masking his alarm with a shot at a soldier who’d pinned Erya. He reached back into his quiver and his gut lurched as he grasped at empty air. _I’m out._

“Persistent...for rookies,” Erya gasped, barely hiding a wince as she stumbled towards them.

Siselle tugged them back with her left arm, the injured grip of her sword hand shockingly weak. “They knew we were coming.”

Runaan’s hand dropped to his sword. “That’s impossible.”

“Our intelligence was faulty, theirs was better, who knows what happened?” She didn’t voice the third alternative, that they had been sold out. _That guard raising the alarm was enough,_ he thought bitterly. 

A new wave thundered along the battlements. Runaan cursed under his breath. They’d never make it down the wall. Unless...

He reached into his pocket and felt for the hagstone. Putting his trust in its magic, he hurled it into the fray and it shattered beneath their boots. Instantly, the air began to shimmer in shades of cool green, blue, and wispy grey. 

“It’s right beside you!” one soldier shouted, pointing at the man opposite him. Even as he reached for his sword, someone else’s found its mark in the weak armour beneath his arm. 

“Not today!” she growled as he collapsed. “Xadian scum like you—”

But she was cut off as another compatriot tackled her, wreathed in the undulating smoke. Runaan watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as the soldiers turned on one another, completely forgetting the elves that were frozen just a few steps in front of them. 

“They're seeing the enemy in everyone,” Erya whispered, clutching at her side.

“The power of appearances,” Siselle grunted, scrambling over the battlements. “The bottom is clear. Let’s go.”

Runaan began to protest—this was the perfect chance to try and salvage this mission—but a glance at the others made his voice die in his throat. Siselle was barely gripping the rain-slicked handholds they’d put in earlier as she helped Erya, who was pale and all but sliding down the way they’d come. He could see now the dark stain seeping from under her tunic and onto her green leggings. There was nothing for it. Runaan vaulted over the wall, survival numbing his disgust until it became something like relief. They’d live another sunrise because their magic ruined the enemy’s advantage. 

They hit the ground and hared off through the woods. Runaan didn’t feel like himself. He was moving mechanically, trusting only his body and his senses. 

“I’m dripping blood everywhere,” Erya grumbled. “I might as well be sending up a smoke signal and tooting a horn!”

“That sounds complicated,” Runaan replied, helping her across puddly ground. “The rain will wash it away.” He suddenly realised that Siselle, the one who should’ve been the one providing words of reassurance, was silent. He went still as he realised that she wasn’t beside them. A quick search found her collapsed beside a bush a little way back, lying on her side. The arrow had apparently done much more damage than either of them had realised. Disbelief flooded through him. “Give me your arm—” 

“No,” she pushed him away, shuddering, it seemed, from the effort of just breathing. “Get back to Xadia.”

“But—”

“You need to see to Erya’s wound and get back home before they follow. Tell our commanders what’s happened.”

“Siselle—”

“Why do we fight, Runaan?”

He stared at her, feeling heavier and older than stone. It had been bad enough knowing they’d left the others. But Siselle? She was more than a mentor. 

He blinked, his face hot and jaw trembling, but forced his expression to become as stoic as hers. She had made her choice. She’d decided what she believed in and exactly how far she’d go to honour it. Who was he if he didn’t allow her the dignity of that choice? Going by the sudden smile gracing her cut lips, she knew that he understood.

She grasped his hand for a moment, giving him a firm look that seemed to transfer all her conviction from her weakening grip to his strengthening one, and then he was off like a shadow in the night, helping Erya move as fast as they could. She didn’t speak a word, but he could see numbness descending on her expression clear as day. _It’s always daunting the first time._ 

Runaan’s limbs began to tremble, as if they’d been tense for far too long. Moonshadow elves didn’t get tired this easily. It was something else, inside, and if he looked too long at it, he knew he’d stop moving. So he focused on details. The growing heat of the border. Erya’s ragged breathing. His heart beating hard enough that he could barely hear the trees rustling as the storm eased off.

“We’ll have to go back,” Erya said abruptly. 

“I know.”

“They’ll be waiting for us.”

“I know.”

“The fight is never going to end.”

“We’re not in control of how this ends,” he said, eyes focused, on the churning lava ahead, refusing to look back. “Only how it carries on.”

They scampered across it, Xadia’s cliffs leaning towards them as if extending both amnesty and a challenge. In their camp, Runaan worked quickly to clean and pad the slash along Erya’s side. He glanced around as he rubbed salve into his own wounds. Empty tents. A sudden calm wave passed over him. He’d leave them. Within the week, he knew he’d be back with a new team, one bent on finishing what they started.

It was neither revenge nor duty. Neither word could encompass what it meant to go into a fight, to leave people behind, to save only the ones who could still save themselves. Neither of those things could account for an enemy that, given the advantage, would not hesitate as he had done. Neither could account for loyalty—to oaths, to the fighting, or to the fallen.

* * *

Runaan moved like a ghost through the keep, silenced soldiers at his feet. Erya was covering him from the corridor, the others in the building’s eaves. The rest of the garrison remained oblivious. _Fear into clarity._

It had taken a few sleepless days to work out what had happened—that they’d been sighted by a very sharp, silent Katolis scout doing covert border surveillance, possibly for the very raid the elves had been trying to prevent. Runaan didn’t understand how they’d missed the scout, but it had been costly. 

So here he was, back with a few others who’d volunteered to complete the mission. He wasn’t sure if it was human arrogance or their waiting a day to time the changed rosters of the guards in the wake of their prior attack. Either way, they managed to slip in unnoticed, taking out who they had to with time to spare before discovery. Everything that could have gone wrong, didn’t. Fate’s cruelty had a humorous streak, it seemed.

He laid one four-fingered hand against the dark wooden door. Quiet voices sounded within—one gruff from years of hurling orders, the other gentle and feminine. An obstacle he wished he didn’t have to deal with. Runaan’s fingers tensed around his bow, feeling the dull throb of the blood ribbon tight around his arm. An oath he now understood, and could not betray a second time.

On his own, he couldn’t weigh the worth of blood spilled. The course of this conflict would do it for him, and it was his duty as an assassin to surrender to that. 

He shoved open the door, staring down the shaft of his arrow at the stunned colonel dressed in a night tunic. The girl next to him gasped. Going by the similar noses and dark, keen eyes, she had to have been his daughter.

The colonel relaxed suddenly, and laughed. Runaan stayed still as a statue, even as discomfort itched beneath his skin. 

“I was certain you'd turned tail like the cowards you are,” the colonel said. 

“Like most other things, you were wrong.”

“Really? Was I wrong to not hesitate in doing what was right? Was I wrong to act when I saw your attack coming?”

The words hit Runaan like a punch to the gut. This entire mission had been predicated on that question. Walking into this room, Runaan was sure he knew the answer. But he couldn't accept the colonel thinking along the same lines as him, his people. It made him similar. It absolved him. _And I cannot allow that._

He drew back his arrow, and the colonel sighed. “Well, take the plans then. I won't stop you. We'll make new ones and this fight will go on and on. And you and I will stay on our leashes, answer our summons, and run round this circus until we die and they put fresh blood in our place.” He opened a drawer and withdrew a thick wrap of scrolls. “Be my guest.”

“I'm not here to take the plans.”

That's when the man’s smile slipped. “Excuse me?”

“You killed three Xadians on human soil,” Runaan declared. “Your life is barely worth one of theirs, but the blow this will do against your country's command will make up for that.”

He gaped. Then there was a sharp cry and suddenly Runaan was staring down his arrow at the girl, who'd thrown herself in front of her father, a dagger in her hand.

“Step aside,” Runaan ordered as the colonel murmured something in her ear. She shook her head, stepping even closer. 

“You’re _monsters_ ,” she spat. “I won't let you finish this cleanly. You don’t know anything about honour. You fight for nothing.”

And there it was again. The prized focus he’d had when he’d completed his trials, that had kept him from breaking down as they fled the keep that night. Sound seemed to shrink away, comprised only of his deep breaths and the light _skrit_ of his arrow on the bowstring.

Siselle had been right. Honour laid in loyalty to oaths. Duty laid in doing the right thing. 

It was good when both converged.

“I’ll give you one last chance,” he hissed. “Our justice will not be denied.”

“I’ll never give in to a Xadian!”

And his arrow darted through the air, quiet as a ghost, quick as lightning, powerful as a jet of dragon fire. 

Two thumps followed. The candle on the table was knocked down, plunging the room into darkness. His blood ribbon drifted softly to the ground. 

Feeling rushed back into Runaan’s arm and then the rest of his body. He gave in to the trembling in his legs, leaning back against the door for a moment's respite, before schooling his face into calmness and conviction. The girl had been wrong. _He_ had been wrong. He was now ready to give himself completely—mind, body and spirit—in honour of the mission, in honour of life. Precious life, and yet just one more piece in the greater stakes, as small as himself. He knew now why he fought.

_For Xadia—and everyone we lost._


End file.
